Slow Journey

It is the small things
translucent snail
fits perfectly between
forefinger and thumb
slow-journeying across
the brickwork
torrents of rain sliding
off its shell
(memory of gerbera
stems soft as fur)
snails were my guardians
then, shell-swags
full-to-brim with teapots,
books and leathermans.
In my deep bones
I know they protect me
stalked eyes roaming,
household deities